I saw a feather
in the sky
a quill of sorts
trailing the word
storm
the wind was high
the clouds came in
much lower
grey grew wide
lightning
illuminated each letter
and the rain
washed the word
away
~
I saw a plume
annotating one section
of sky
the line it penned
in a stream
of white
sun
the blue
held the word
in a sweet formation
frayed slowly
by the zephyr breeze
tailed away
~
I saw the impression
of fading cirrus
tufts
and waves
a sky tide
disappearing remnants
of a declaration
burn
the sun
beat down
the sky
all wriggling lines
of an illusion
that there may be
water
© Frank Prem, 2016
Poem #10: old birds refrained
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